“A two-line epigram only did I give him, two of the worst I have ever composed in technique, borrowing from but not imitating Horace as truly as he deserved. But they served their turn.
“The lines had a crude charm, I suppose, but could scarcely delight the heart of a connoisseur. Lord Ricimer, however, was struck by them and, if I had made myself absurd by inventing the doggerel, he made himself the more so by commenting, in all seriousness, upon it.
“ ‘Perhaps the poet does have his uses after all,’ he said. ‘For you seem to see more clearly than others superior to you in experience. They think Rome is still all-powerful; you in your poem state the truth, that it is crumbling, a mere illusion of what it once was.’
“He nodded thoughtfully, rapt with admiration, so I hoped, then heaved a heavy sigh. ‘You surprise me, poet. Truly you do. We will talk some more. Come to my palace this evening. After dinner, if you please. I do not entertain, and you would not be flattered by any food I might offer you.’
“He turned on his heel and left the room, and also left me in a daze. My companion—whose attempt to show me up had collapsed so badly—at least had the grace to congratulate me on my good fortune. ‘He has no companions, few advisors. No one knows his mind. If you can extract even a hint of what he intends, you will be able to trade it for whatever you want. But be careful. It is said that being Ricimer’s friend is far more dangerous than being his enemy.’ ”
Manlius paused and looked around. No one had said a word, scarcely a cup had been touched since he had begun talking. He was telling them of princes and cities, of legendary figures in distant lands. Sophisticated theologians, men of God though they were, he had them enthralled. “I see from your faces that you are less interested in the progress of a young Gaul like myself, and more in the traveler’s tale I have to offer,” he said with a smile. “Perhaps you are right, for I have seen Rome. Once every Gaul of senatorial rank would have been there; now I know of only half a dozen people who have even traveled out of their own province. But I am one of them. I have seen Rome, I tell you. We hear differing reports, do we not, of this great city. The most beautiful, glorious city in the entire world, glistening with gold and marble. Or is it now a shattered ruin, ransacked and raped time and again after all its troubles, denuded of its wealth, stripped of its population?
“The answer is both; Rome has fallen from its glory, yet in its decrepitude is still more magnificent than the mind of man can easily imagine. I might even say that the barbarian armies might ransack it again and again and come back a third time, and what remained would even then outstrip all other cities on this earth. Stand on the Capitoline Hill, that sacred spot, turn right around and the city stretches before you, so vast you cannot see its end. The great Colosseum itself is bigger than most cities in Gaul, the shops still burst with the perfumes and spices and cloths of all the world. The libraries groan with precious works; at every street corner there is a statue or a monument to some hero of the past. It still boasts men of exquisite learning and women of extraordinary beauty. And ruling it all and all it owned, though always in the background, was Count Ricimer.
“I had expected Eastern pomp, as barbarians can rarely resist the sweets of luxury when they are ready to hand, and the palace he inhabited was grand enough—certainly the biggest such place I have ever been in. And yet he nested in it like a squirrel in an oak tree; most of the halls, all the dining rooms, baths, were disused even though beautifully maintained. Not a sound, not a person did I see in the entire place, even though I knew that guards must be all around. The entire building was in total darkness except for the light thrown by the torch of the two soldiers who escorted me to him. Outside, I was searched—efficiently but not brusquely—and then asked to remove my shoes. Then one soldier knocked on the door, opened it, and gestured me inside.
“Ricimer lay on a couch reading, but made no pretense of business. He got up—there was no one else in the room—and put the papers down on a little desk the moment I walked in, then turned to greet me.
“I was nonplussed by it all, so different was it to my expectations. I was not so naïve as to imagine that I had been invited because of my poetry—even had it been better, Ricimer was not one to have noticed the fact. Careful questioning had indicated that his lusts—if he had any—did not extend to young men such as myself. I did not consider it likely that I had been asked to give wise words on the state of the empire, although I allowed myself a few moments of fantastic imagination in that direction. In fact, I did not know what I was doing there. It never occurred to me then that the most powerful man in Rome had no one to talk to.
“He bade me sit on the couch—in this he was traditional—and asked me to pour him some wine, which I did, though I noticed that, although he put the cup to his lips, he never actually tasted it. He kept company with me, but did not join me. Then he asked me about my journey to Rome, and how our delegation was being treated. I answered frankly and honestly, for I considered that to do otherwise would be considered more insulting than to dissimulate. He did not wish to hear empty praise of a city for which he was known to feel little but disdain.
“ ‘We are treated as you might expect, Excellency,’ I said. ‘As provincials scarcely worth talking to. Although since news of your invitation this evening circulated somehow, I find myself suddenly popular.’
“He smiled. ‘They still fear me, I think. And will do so until they kill me. They hate me, but cannot do without me. How is my fame in Gaul? Am I thought of as the barbarian, destroying Rome simply to keep hold of power for himself?’
“ ‘As you say yourself, sir; it is thought shameful that Rome should be under the sway of a man like yourself who is no Roman.’
“ ‘But what does it say of Rome that it submits to me so easily? I am powerful despite being hated. Yet no one lifts a finger to curb my authority. Do you know why?’
“ ‘A man with a powerful army is hard to curb.’
“ ‘Oh, no. A knife thrust will do the trick. As many people have discovered in the past. No; it is because Romans no longer care to resist. They want an easy, trouble-free life, living on their past, going through their ancient ceremonies, reading and rereading books written half a thousand years ago. The present is of little interest to them. They leave it to me; and as long as their lives are not troubled, will continue to do so. You think of me as scarcely lettered, no doubt. So I am, but I have read some of the histories. I know of the republic and of the old virtues. Such people as the Romans were then would never have tolerated a man like myself except as a servant. Never as a master.’
“ ‘But if you give them what they want, then you are their servant.’
“He considered this, then shook his head. ‘Perhaps. But not a true servant. I am the servant who encourages his master to be drunk every evening so he cannot see to the honest running of the household, does not realize I am sleeping with his daughter. I am that sort of servant. I did not choose this role. I wished to do otherwise, to serve Rome, but it is no longer worth serving well.’
“ ‘But with your power, your authority, and your skill, you could insist on this. I do not flatter you, I hope; your expertise in generalship is well known and often proven. But did not Julius Caesar, then Augustus, then Diocletian, then Constantine all take a somnolent empire and force it awake, make it defend itself, renew its institutions?’